Category Archives: Hello Calgary

I see your Elf on a Shelf, and I raise you a group of snowmen on the bathroom counter

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After a fairly warm fall/ early winter, the world is suddenly covered with a thick blanket of snow and very, very cold. It looks very pretty and of course the children are delighted with the festivity of fluffy snow a week before Christmas, but on Wednesday I had an early-morning spot on the news and I woke up to 10 cm of snow and traffic in a snarly mess. This happened the last time I was on the news, which filled me with slight foreboding. Fortunately, I got there safely and the spot went off without a hitch. However, I have been incorporating all the appetizers I made for the show into dinners since then, so as not to waste them. It’s filling my entire family with puzzlement. You know that you’re a rigid person when your husband is completely SHOCKED to discover tortilla wraps for dinner on a Wednesday, and tacos on a Thursday. “What next?” he asked last night as he warily filled a taco shell, “Are we not having pitas for dinner tomorrow?” He almost fell over when I told him no, we weren’t.

Today is the last day of school, and all pretence of academia is long gone. Speaking of which, I forgot to mention the added-insult-to-injury of Jake’s week-long field trip: each child was required to pay an extra $50 for the honour. $50 so that the kids could be bored out of their minds and learn nothing, with the only highlight being the indoor garden. OUTRAGE.

Anyway, it’s pajama day at school, and after many years of shunning pajama day, my children trudged through the snow with their flannel bottoms tucked into their boots. I’m not the biggest fan of it myself – but at least the kids will be comfortable as they watch movies and eat party treats. Mark is watching the Polar Express with his Grade 1/2 buddy class, which he says is lame, but okay for the buddies I GUESS.

It’s a tradition of mine to send festively-shaped sugar cookies to class for every special occasion: birthdays, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, and Christmas. I’ve been doing it so long that now the boys’ longtime classmates ask if I’m going to send cookies. Frankly, it makes me feel a bit like a rock star when I see them in the halls and they tell me that my cookies are superior to every other cookie they’ve ever had. I mean, you cannot hear that kind of compliment without it going to your head a little bit.

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Between appetizers, cookies, and making peppermint bark and truffles for teacher gifts, it’s been a busy week in the kitchen. Main teachers also get gift cards, but I like to send chocolates to the office staff and the teachers who supervise the crossing guards. My kids are both crossing guards and the supervisory role is a stressful one, given the asshole way people drive through the crosswalks.

So the boys went loaded down with cookies, teacher gifts, and snowpants, since they are going to be sledding with friends after early dismissal this afternoon. And just to make my life even more awesome, they are at the age that I don’t have to stand in the snow and wait for them. I’m dropping off the sleds and then going back to my cozy house; they will sled and then WALK HOME, IT IS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. I mention this to give hope to all you mamas out there who are working up a sweat wrangling your children into winter gear, freezing to death watching them narrowly miss the brick walls of the school, and then managing both the tears when faceplants in the snow occur and sudden meltdowns because snow is in the mittens. One day soon your children will walk home when they are done, carrying their own sleds, with no supervision. IT IS GLORIOUS.

Another glorious thing: we got a Roomba. Someone was mentioning the other day how hard it is to really “wow” teens and tweens at Christmas. I mean, at a certain age they are just not going to be as excited getting a video game/ books/ shirts/ new gloves (all things my own children are receiving this year) as they were when a Thomas the Tank Engine table magically appeared in the basement. That’s part of the growing-up process UNLESS you decide to do something incredible like BUY A ROOMBA. We ran it in our carpeted basement this morning and two things occurred to me: a) our vacuum is clearly too old to be effective anymore because the filter needed cleaning twice, grosssssss, and b) watching a Roomba maneuver around furniture and exercise equipment was more fun than anyone could have imagined. We were all cheering the Roomba, giving it positive reinforcement (GREAT JOB, ROOMBA!), and projecting human feelings onto it (YOU’RE SO SMART, ROOMBA, WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU!). No need for a late-in-life baby, we are all embracing the Roomba like the Christmas miracle that he is. Who knew we had an empty space in our hearts, filled only by a robotic vacuum cleaner?

Also filling empty spaces in our hearts is our tiny snowman collection. When I had a tiny light-less tree in my first apartment, I bought a set of tiny snowmen to decorate it. They were cheap, from Wal-mart, but very cute. Almost twenty years later, all their hooks have fallen off, but I put a handful of them on the bathroom counter to make showering and other bathroom activities super-festive.

Santa

One morning I finished my breakfast to see that my husband had rearranged all the snowmen, so that instead of the dull little groups of two or three I had them in the bathroom was transformed into a snowman hide-and-seek game.

hide and seek hiding snowman

And, like Donkey Kong, it was on. We have all been switching the snowmen to different vignettes and then seeing if anyone else can guess what they are doing. I admit, my ideas run towards the dull – a yoga class, a conga line, everyone in a circle singing Christmas carols – but the testosterone in the house has led to slightly non-Christmassy themes.

Younglings

Such as, Anakin brutally slaying the younglings so that his power, Herod-like, would be unchallenged.

The other day Jake said “I call the snowmen today!” and busily rearranged them. It was a bit later when I went in to see the initially startling result:

lightsaber

Before you express concerns that I have a Rosemary’s Baby kind of situation around here, it is a LIGHT SABER. Just a light saber. We are going to see The Force Awakens tomorrow, and excitement is through the roof and coming through extensively in our snowman-vignette game. Light saber. Not work of the devil.

Snap back to reality

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Oh, you guys, it is SO DARK. It’s still a week away from the shortest day of the year, and the sun rises at 8:32 and sets at 4:28. There has been low-lying cloud and fog, and the other day I went to pick the kids up from school at 3:30 and the streetlights had come on. On Thursday it got so dark AT NOON that my light-sensing outdoor lights went on. At NOON. I’m popping Vitamin D and listening to Michael Buble, Neil Diamond, and Elvis sing Christmas carols on repeat. I think it’s especially hitting me because a week ago we were in Florida, and I was feeling a bit amused seeing people wearing down jackets and gloves, at 24 degrees Celsius.

I feel like we’ve really hit the ground running, since our holiday. The kids have caught up on their schoolwork and were back at patrols and karate last week. I had volunteered to chaperone the last day of Jake’s class’ week-long field trip, which was Friday. Week-long field trip. I know. It was, we were told, a huge privilege to go on this field trip. Of hundreds of applicants, only a few were chosen, and Jake’s class was one of them. However, after discussing with the other parent volunteers, and then being on the trip itself, I can only say this: I think it would have been a bigger privilege NOT to go on the field trip.

I wasn’t sorry that Jake missed the first two days. According to my friend (HI REBECCA) who chaperoned one day, the kids had the privilege of sitting in on a school board trustee meeting. As an adult, I cannot imagine anything more boring, and I’m pretty informed on the school board’s policies. As a child, though? It seems like staring blankly at the wall for six hours would have been more interesting. I was just happy that I chaperoned on Friday, which was an early dismissal day. Something I thought I’d never say: the bus ride there was the best part. At least the kids were cheerfully singing Christmas carols for the whole time, and there was only one class so I didn’t have to share my seat with two children.

The vast majority of the field trip was spent at the Calgary Board of Education building downtown, and the woman running the program was not exactly someone who I thought excelled at working with children. We were ushered into a room that was completely white and grey, with absolutely no colour or artwork. The kids were given a big lecture on funding, and community collaboration, and then were given a small exercise to do. FUNDING and COMMUNITY COLLABORATION. I was dying of boredom, and I’m an economist. I felt deep sympathy for the children, who were then supposed to write a journal entry on what they’d learned this week. According to every student, the best part about the whole week was the one hour they spent touring an indoor garden and looking at a fish tank.

You know, there’s learning enrichment, and then there’s complete waste of time and resources.

Mark’s class has the privilege of a week-long field trip in January, but his is at the Arts Commons so hopefully it will be more interesting, or, at the very least, not a totally useless week.

Well, it’s the last week of school before the winter break, so I’m taking advantage of this time to get a lot of work and writing done. I want to spend the holidays with the kids watching Price is Right and holiday specials, maybe with a giant mug of coffee and Baileys. I have gingerbread men to bake and a gingerbread house to decorate, which I’d normally have done already, but I’m holding off so we have extra activities to do over the break. With a week off school before Christmas, I think a few extra activities will not be amiss.

By the way, if you’re feeling stressed out, I have a few links for you: How To Enjoy The Holidays Without Losing Your Mind and Avoid Holiday Stress and Put The Zen In Your Holidays. To that end, I’m not going to feel stressed that I haven’t – yet – written my usual Sears Catalogue post. It’s coming! It’s coming! I think. Have a happy Monday, everyone. xo

One of these days these feet are going to walk all over you.

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I found out that Billy Idol just turned sixty this week, and when I mentioned my surprise to my husband, he was nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t you think he’d be sixty?” he asked. “His big hits all came out in the early 80s.”

That wasn’t what I meant, though. It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe his age, per se, it’s just I cannot believe he’s actually lived this long. I believe he was the epitome of “live fast die young” given his penchant for overdosing and also having sex with multiple prostitutes and/or groupies at a time. You’d think something would have done him in by now, but no. I call that amazing.

Also of note: the boys graded at karate this weekend and are now green belts. It’s not as incredible as Billy Idol living three decades longer than anyone might have guessed, but I still think it’s pretty great.

Greenbelts

They look a little like black belts in that photo, but really, they are green.

greenbelts2

I should have maybe photoshopped out the dirty foot. Those dojo floors are never as clean as you might hope. Once Jake came home with glitter on the soles of his feet, and wondered what exactly happened in the dojo when they weren’t there.

Speaking of feet, I was at the hair salon the other day, and there was a woman speaking about her recent experience at a newly-opened day spa. The experience was not, shall we say, ideal. I shamelessly eavesdropped as she discussed the plumbing issues, the jackhammering noise, and the massage therapists that walked around all wearing gladiator-style sandals. What’s the big deal with gladiator-style sandals, you might wonder, other than being not as flattering as some footwear. Well.

The woman was lying on the massage table, and all seemed normal at first. Then, she said, something changed. The massage felt very different somehow. It didn’t feel like hands, and it didn’t feel like elbows. The woman turned her head – no mean feat on a massage table – and the massage therapist was USING HER FEET TO MASSAGE HER BACK.

This is where the gladiator sandals detail becomes pertinent. If someone is putting their feet on my body, I would like those feet to be as clean as possible. Also, I would not like anyone’s feet on my body. Unless, I suppose, my husband is playing a game of footsie, but THAT IS IT. No other feet, please.

The woman’s hair stylist stopped with the foils and looked at her. “What do you…mean, exactly? Was she…walking on you?”

This was also my question, but I didn’t feel like I could ask, since I was, after all, eavesdropping.

No, it turns out, the massage therapist was kneeling on the bed with one foot rubbing the woman’s back. Her upper back, near her hair. Her hair. Feet. Near her hair. I don’t think I’m a germaphobe – well, maybe just a little – but this seems to me to be especially gross.

I don’t get massages anyway, since I am not someone who enjoys other people rubbing my back with more than feather-strength. Yet, I felt it was valuable information to have. Usually the only information I gain from the salon is from reading People magazine. For example, the reason David Beckham was named is because he vacuums, and that Carly Simon is still in love with James Taylor, who hasn’t spoken to her for many years. Now, I love James Taylor’s music but his shoddy treatment of the adoring Carly Simon is enough to make me not sing along to Fire and Rain. Oh, who am I kidding. I’m still going to sing along but it’s not the same.

An obstacle is an unrecognized opportunity.

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I’ve come a long way throughout the years, and I’ve learned a lot from my mistakes. A person who never made a mistake is a person who never tried anything new was displayed on the wall of Jake’s old classroom, and I think that’s inspirational. I regularly tell my children that mistakes are learning opportunities, and that we become better as we learn from them.

All of which is to say that I do not shop at Costco without a list anymore. In fact, I go through my pantry and cupboards and make a very specific list, and I do not deviate from that list. If I don’t have vanilla extract on the list, I don’t buy it; the fact is I will not need to buy it for some time, since I have several Costco-sized bottles in my pantry as we speak.

Learning opportunities.

The last time I really went off the list, to my own detriment, was when I purchased a giant double-pack of plastic wrap. I rarely use plastic wrap, and I certainly did not need a gigantic double-pack. I purchased that double-pack in late 2013 and I JUST opened it a few weeks ago. Sadly, the quality of the plastic wrap is terrible, so I am doomed to decades of using crappy plastic wrap, since there is no way in hell I am going to throw it out. I will probably go to my grave with this plastic wrap still in my pantry. My great-grandchildren will come to clean out my apartment in the senior’s complex and they will look at the plastic wrap with wonder. What did Grandma think she was going to do with all that plastic wrap? Then they will take it upon themselves to use it up, and I just hope that it doesn’t have crazy monkey-paw powers.

Anyway, last week I went to Costco with my list in hand, and right at the door, right there, was a huge display of flower bulbs. As though struck by lightning, I stopped my giant cart in front of the display with wide eyes and palpable excitement. BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS BULBS was going through my head to the tune of that old Meow Mix commercial. I literally could not move. People were steering their carts around me probably wondering what just happened to that insane looking woman by the bulb display.

Now, bulbs were not on my list. I didn’t even know that bulbs were an option. I decided to make an exception to my rule and dithered for several minutes between the varieties of tulips, daffodils, hyanciths, and crocuses before finally settling on a mix of apricot and deep purple tulips, and a variety pack of yellow, purple, and variegated crocuses. After putting them in my cart, I had to pull over by the watch display and regroup. I felt the way a toddler must feel when fed a package of gummy bears, brought into Toys R Us, and told to choose two things. I felt slightly unglued and totally unfocused, and I had to read my list several times just to become in a normal Costco-shopping state again. After some time, I felt equal to the task, and went looking for the tamari almonds.

When I got home I immediately texted my husband to tell him I bought a total of fifty tulips and eighty crocuses; my mother then phoned and I told her of my exciting day. She asked, quite reasonably, where I was planning to put one hundred and thirty bulbs in my already-full gardens.

As they say in Pinterest’s inspirational quotes and public school classrooms, an obstacle is often an unrecognized opportunity. A stepping stone, if you will. The weather last Saturday turned out to be beautiful and warm, and so Mark and I spent a few hours digging around my perennials and shrubs, looking for spaces. One such unrecognized opportunity was my hosta garden. The kitchen window faces this garden, and during July, August, and even, sometimes, September, this garden is a thing of beauty: giant variegated leaves, a dogwood and a giant spirea shrub, colourful impatiens, and an inukshuk made from large rocks collected at my husband’s childhood home.

At all other times of the year, however, it’s a depressingly dull strip of dirt with leafless shrubs and the inukshuk standing all alone in the soil.

It is especially depressing in May, because all the other plants and shrubs, in their sunny locales throughout the yard, are green and lovely and in some cases, even blooming. If I’m lucky, there might be a half inch of hosta growth poking out of the ground and the beginning of leaves on the spirea. Since I spent most of my time in the kitchen, staring out at this barren wasteland of a north-facing garden, I really wanted to change it somehow.

Crocuses are the answer! If all goes well, in May I should have about sixty yellow, purple, and variegated crocuses popping up in the garden, hopefully bridging the gap between snow melt and post-frost planting time. It’s something to look forward to, since there was frost on the grass and roof this morning and it definitely feels like WINTER IS COMING. But for now, I’ll just enjoy the fall and try not to think about it too much.

Tulips

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Hail the conquering hero!

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There’s just something so satisfying about conquering something that you had previously thought unconquerable. Climbing the mountain, running the marathon, or – in my case – going on a field trip.

As you know, over the years I’ve been incredibly adverse to field trips, with the single exception being the preschool trip to the fire hall. I think we all can understand why, without my getting into any details about the heroically strong firefighters. In fact, the last field trip that I chaperoned was nearly three years ago and I volunteered under extreme duress. It was just as terrible as I had thought it would be; given the sheer amount of volunteering I do at the school, I felt that it was perfectly acceptable to say no more field trips. Never again.

But there have been several changes in my life since the ill-fated trip to the museum. For one thing, I am no longer chairing the school council and parent association, which has left me with extra time. For another thing, my children are now in grades five and six, and children this age are much less likely to run away or get separated from the group, and that paranoia of losing someone else’s child has long kept me from chaperoning field trips. Buoyed up by my friends Catherine (HI CATHERINE) and Allison (HI ALLISON), who are seasoned field-trip veterans, I signed up for a walking trip to the nearby Whispering Woods, a nature park attached to a nearby school, which features an outdoor classroom, several pathways, and interpretive signs.

I was assigned a group of nine boys, and I am just going to go out on a limb here and say that my group was superior to other groups. For one thing, these nine boys were quite studious and full of information that they seemed to enjoy divulging to me, from their country of origin and interesting things about it to the house with big windows that was listed for sale that we all admired on the way to the woods. Other than one slightly hyper boy who enjoyed randomly squirting his water bottle on the sidewalk and then laughing hysterically, the group was – I thought – extraordinarily calm and well behaved.

As a small digression, I can’t help but note that the girl-heavy groups were the ones who were constantly eye-rolling and making sarcastic comments about the useless-ness of the information gathered and the field trip in general. Also, while we were in the outdoor classroom supposedly making notes about what defines a tree, a daddy-long-legs spider crawled beside one of the girls, who took that opportunity to FLIP THE FUCK OUT, thus inciting a general scream-fest with the other girls in the class.

So I was pleased with my group, and they were pleased with me, as I overheard a few of them say to Mark “You have a really nice mom! You’re so lucky!” which spurred me to rashly volunteer for more upcoming trips, including one in a few weeks with Jake’s class, in which I will have to ride on the school bus. I feel I will have much more to say on that topic at a later date.

The field trip itself only had one snag – other than the spidery scream-fest – and that is that it was evident, upon wandering through the paths, that some of the itinerant population seem to be camping in the little woods. It was further evidenced by the appearance of human feces, plus toilet paper, right on one of the middle paths, at which I could only think, really? We can talk about social issues and homelessness, but seriously? Right in the middle of a path frequented by children? In a woods attached to an elementary school and within walking distance to four other schools? Could we not go off the path to defecate, homeless people?

Anyway. I’m sorry to bring up such a gross topic, let’s take our minds off that with a socially awkward moment of mine. Last night was the Welcome Back BBQ at the school, which is a great opportunity to meet the teachers or – if you’re like me – just chat with all the teachers and parents in a casual, sunny setting. The boys had mentioned to me that the assistant principal had changed her name, to which information Mark added “I guess she got married.” Of course, as soon as I saw her last night, I said in my most effusive and excited tones, “Oh, I hear congratulations are in order!”

She looked at me somewhat blankly and asked why. At this point I knew. I knew exactly where this was going to go and what mistake I had made. I stumbled blankly for a moment, saying that I thought I’d heard, well, her name changed…at which point she said “Oh no, I didn’t get married. I got divorced!”

I had a deer-in-headlights look for a moment, considering my awkward social gaffe. She was extremely gracious, saying that it was a GOOD thing and that I probably COULD congratulate her on it, and everything was FINE, but still. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a rewind button? Note to self, check out left hand PRIOR to congratulating someone on their recent nuptials.

Also known as banana hammocks.

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I had so many plans for this last week of summer vacation – the pool! the zoo! the amusement park! – and the weather has been beautifully warm. It would be a perfect week for all those things! Unfortunately, the city is hidden in a giant cloud of smoke, courtesy of the wildfires out west. The air quality is so bad that we’ve been housebound for days; five minutes at the dog park on Monday, and we all had burning throats and eyes, and Mark was wheezing a bit. It doesn’t smell exactly like being downwind of the world’s largest campfire anymore when I open the back door, but the boys and I just walked down the street to get their hair cut, and now I have a screaming headache. Well, maybe tomorrow will be better. Hold on for one more day, and all that.

Over at Throwing It Back, Hannah wrote about Pump Up The Volume, and it has thrown me into a flurry of nostalgia for movies of my youth. Oh, how I adored Christian Slater. Oh, how I loved that movie. Isn’t it interesting how movies back in the 80s and 90s would never be made today? Think about Heathers: accidental murder, suicide becoming trendy, and homophobia. Oh boy! Just last night my husband and I were talking about Vacation. Can you imagine that being made today? Family road trip ends with enraged man holding Wally World employees at gunpoint so that he can ride all the rides. Well, possibly this movie would be made today but it wouldn’t be a comedy. It would probably star Nicholas Cage and end with the promise of a sequel; a pumped-up and tattooed Clark Griswold, looking like Robert DeNiro from Cape Fear.

Side note: I do know that there is a remake of Vacation – I haven’t seen it yet, although Chris Hemsworth in his underwear is enough enticement, really. I feel fairly sure there isn’t the “holding employees at gunpoint” plotline though.

Meanwhile, the boys and I are still tucking in for our daily episode of Downton Abbey. All this re-watching of it had me puzzled about – of all things – underarm hair. While discussing plot lines of feudalism, estate planning, male heirs, and rape with the boys, I have been secretly thinking about underarm hair.

Nicole says: Well, the reason that note is so important is that Lady Mary actually didn’t have any rights to the Abbey, because she’s a woman. I know! But that’s the way things were back then. Everything went to the boys.

Nicole thinks: They are all wearing sleeveless dresses. Was shaving a thing back then? Or did they all just let it all hang out?

After literally YEARS of wondering about when shaving underarms became a thing, I finally remembered that there is this handy thing called the Internet, and on that Internet is this handy thing called Google, and I could probably stop wondering and get some answers about this very important issue.

The great thing about the Internet is that there is not only a Wikipedia article for practically everything, there is also a website or blog for every single thing. I found a whole article devoted to when women started shaving their underarms, and indeed, it was in the 1920s when sleeveless dresses became popular. Hooray for Downton Abbey and their attention to detail.

Interestingly, leg shaving wasn’t really a thing until the 1940s, what with women wearing longer skirt lengths until that time, which makes sense. Apparently, bikini waxes were first popular with Muslim women in North Africa and the Middle East, when brides would get all their body hair removed pre-wedding night. I had no idea. And here I thought waxes became popular with the rise of the string bikini.

Speaking of which, my friend Candace over at Life in Pleasantville posted a discussion about Speedos, which spurred a comment along the lines of if we say anyone can wear a bikini, why can’t anyone wear a Speedo? This is an interesting point. Why indeed? On the beach in Maui, I would estimate 95% of women are in bikinis, and I think that’s awesome. Rock that bikini, sister, I would say if anyone asked. I celebrate women of all shapes and sizes embracing their figures and wearing any kind of bathing suit they feel comfortable in. And yet, my first response to a man wearing a Speedo is revulsion.

Is this a reverse sexism thing? I don’t know. I mean, there was an incident in which I was sitting by the pool and an older gentleman in a green Speedo bent over in front of me and I got a full glimpse of his testicles, which was disturbing. As much as I want to be open minded, I do not actually want to see a strange man’s testicles. And yet, I have accidentally flashed a nipple while swimming, so the same could be said about me. Maybe I disturbed someone’s inner peace that day, in the same way that gentleman very innocently did to me.

So what is it about Speedos that get us ladies all riled up? Not everyone is flashing their testicles, although the suits do leave very little to the imagination. Of course, bikinis – and, for that matter, most bathing suits – do as well, hence the popularity of the bikini wax for those itsy-bitsy bikinis. Why do we hate Speedos so much? I can’t reconcile my to-get-a-bikini-body-put-your-body-in-a-bikini self with this. In the extremely unlikely, hypothetical event that my husband buys a Speedo, I would burn it, and yet if he did the same to one of my bikinis, it would be mur-diddly-urder around here. HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION, MY HUSBAND WOULD NEVER BUY A SPEEDO OR BURN MY BIKINI.

I don’t know. Maybe I need to work on my open-mindedness. Om shanti.

Zucchini Fest 2015

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Remember in Gone With The Wind, when Scarlett has a recurring dream in which she is running and running through mist and fog, looking for something, something that will make her happy? And then she finds herself actually running through mist and fog and she realizes – finally – that the key to her happiness has been right in front of her this whole time, that Rhett has always loved her and now in a Saint-Paul-On-The-Way-To-Damascus burst of understanding, she loves him too. And then she tells him, that the dream has come true and she knows what she’s looking for, and he’s moved on and is all “I don’t give a damn?”

Ah, to have such dramatic and interpretive dreams. My dreams are so dull that they make Bert from Sesame Street looks like a wild adventurer. About half the time, I dream that I’m folding laundry. Last night I dreamt that I was going through a giant stack of mail, sorting it into piles: recycle, shred, and file. Even in my dreams I’m bored. What this says about me, I don’t know, because I don’t find my life to be particularly dull, but my dream life would make anyone long for pigeons and paperclips, just to vary things a little.

Today is a moon day, so I didn’t practice yoga. Instead, I decided to make today Zucchini Fest 2015 in the Boyhouse. My mother-in-law had given me her usual Excessive Number of Zucchinis, and so I made a quadruple batch of dill pickle zucchini chips (recipe here) and two loaves of double chocolate zucchini loaf (recipe here) and grated and froze 3 cups for later use. I also set aside two more zucchinis for roasting/ grilling on the weekend and that, my friends, will be the end of the Excessive Number of Zucchinis.

After Zucchini Fest 2015, I took Barkley for a very long walk, as part of my Increased Cardiovascular Exercise To Combat My Shrunken Pants regime. While we were walking I noticed a sign in a bus shelter for one of those insurance companies that deals with older people. Usually those signs are kind of cute and deal with things like “were you at Woodstock” or “did you have a beehive hairdo” and state that if so, you qualify for lower insurance rates.

This sign read, IF YOUR “OTHER CAR” HAS A SIREN ON TOP, YOU ARE PAYING TOO MUCH FOR AUTO INSURANCE.

What? At first I wondered if they were catering to first responders or the police, but it was a “grey power” type of company, which leads me to believe, alarmingly, that they are catering to people who RIDE in ambulances on the regular.

Who came up with that advertising campaign? If you keep having heart attacks, call us for your insurance needs. If you are near death, you shouldn’t be paying full price for insurance. I am going to go out on a limb here, and say that if you are nearing the end of a long, full life, maybe you shouldn’t be driving at all. If you have had a lot of ambulance rides because of your advanced age, possibly you should not be behind the wheel. Hey, look on the bright side – that way, your auto insurance will be zero!

I live in a senior heavy neighbourhood, and while I love my elderly neighbours, walking in the Co-Op parking lot is terrifying. I do not even attempt to walk NEAR the giant Cadillacs and Lincolns that MIGHT be backing up, because the drivers seem to be fairly indifferent to things like “shoulder checking” and “looking behind while in reverse.” Eh, those things are just not for me. In my day, we just backed up, and we liked it that way.

Speaking of shopping, yesterday the boys and I went to Costco, and while I was not at all surprised to see the plethora of Halloween costumes and decorations, there were CHRISTMAS TREES AND DECORATIONS ON DISPLAY. I’m all for early shopping and being prepared, but that seems excessive even for me. It’s AUGUST. Sadly, there were no Back to School displays, but I guess I must be a few months late on that. Maybe they do Back to School when school is still in session. All I’m saying is that I’ll be looking forward to Valentines’ chocolates coming out next month.